


Salvaged

by awolfling, plain_jane08 (awolfling)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awolfling/pseuds/awolfling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/awolfling/pseuds/plain_jane08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald knows that if he and Jim are going to survive the oncoming war that they will have to work together. The trouble is convincing Jim that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald stumbled through the streets of Gotham in a daze, his dragging leg the least of his worries. His head throbbed with the beginnings of what would probably be a mild concussion. Maybe worse. His vision swam and he stumbled, falling against a wall and further scuffing his already ruined suit. Oswald blinked and tried to focus. He could feel the solid stone bricks of the wall sticking into his shoulder and back, firm and sure, and yet the world around him spun and dipped and dived with alarming irregularity. He put out a hand to steady himself, clutching at the wall and hissing when his grazed palm came into contact with rough stone. He remembered suddenly the whoosh as the ground came up to meet him when Fish’s men threw him easily out of the car, the sting of grit imbedding itself in his hands as he put them out to break his fall. It didn’t help much, the cuts on his face from where he’d hit the sidewalk testament to that.

 

Oswald shakily got himself upright and started walking again. He needed to get… somewhere. Somewhere safe. Which put his shaken brain in quite a quandary. Maroni wouldn’t take kindly to his new rising star being attacked by Fish’s men. It would weaken Oswald’s position with him, let Maroni see just how feeble Oswald truly was. Because Oswald had no illusions about his physical abilities, no, his brain was his strength; the links he could make, the scope with which he could see. Muscle could be bought and it was abundant. Intelligence was far more rare. Falcone wasn’t an option either. Same reasons, different side. Not to mention that Oswald was in no position to sneak anywhere, which was what would be required for him to reach Falcone. His mother, and Oswald laughed just thinking about it, his mother would be impossible. Oswald could easily imagine the shrieking. It wouldn’t do to upset her.

 

He would get himself to a hospital if he could, but that required a police report or a bribe to stop it and Oswald’s money had been taken. A report would get back to Fish and violate the unspoken rule of not letting anything they do get anywhere near officials, dirty as they all were. Except one. Detective James Gordon. The name itself sounded as righteous as the man was. He fascinated Oswald. To call him a rule follower would be to sorely underestimate him, as many of Oswald’s fellow criminals did. No, Jim Gordon was a man of morals and unwavering goodness. Oswald could admit to himself that he was drawn to it. He thought at first because he wanted to see the golden boy dirtied, but quickly realised he would never tarnish something so beautiful. Jim’s way of living would likely get him killed one day, his need to do what was right overtaking any self-preservation the man might have. But Oswald would have nothing to do with it. In fact, the very thought of Jim’s inevitable fate was troubling. Oswald might have to do something about that when he could see straight again. Cashing in a favour to Falcone to spare Jim’s life didn’t guarantee his continued well being. Oswald would have to plan.

 

Oswald limped blearily to the end of a block. He was starting to wheeze, his bruised ribs making themselves known thanks to the exertion of walking a couple of blocks. He was vaguely aware of the people around him giving him a wide birth. Not one good samaritan among them. Not that he expected it. It is Gotham after all. Looking the other way was a city wide pastime. Some cities were known for their arts and culture, others for their industry, and Gotham was built on organised crime and general skullduggery. On most days it made Oswald proud. The pounding in his head and the sharp ache in his ribs were making Oswald wish for a slightly kinder Gotham, just for that day. 

 

Oswald glanced around trying to orientate himself. The street that he’d come to seemed familiar but his rattled mind was drawing a blank. He looked down it, hoping to find something that jogged his memory. His leg was starting to bother him more than usual and the mix of injuries he had were all vying for for most painful. If he didn’t find somewhere to rest soon he was going to fall over in the streets, and while he appeared to be in a nicer part of town, that wasn’t anywhere close to a guarantee of his safety. He turned left. Left somehow seemed more… right. 

 

Oswald made his way down the street, trying to put his finger on why he knew it. No, that wasn’t quite right, he knew plenty of Gotham’s streets, but this one had something. It was important. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. He was too tired to think, had used up his energy on meandering thoughts. He would do almost anything to have a place to sit and regroup. Years of experience told him  move, don’t make yourself a target, don’t let anyone see how weak you are . Oswald limped forward. He was slowing down and his gait didn’t allow for much fast movement as it was. Quick bursts he could do. Long treks not so much. 

 

“Cobblepot?” 

 

Oswald started. He knew that voice. Oswald spun around and came face to face with Jim.

 

“What are you doing in front of my apartment?” Jim demanded.

 

Oswald heaved a sigh of relief. As suspicious as Jim sounded, Oswald knew he wouldn’t leave an injured man on the street.

 

“What happened to you?” Jim asked, kinder, but guarded.

 

And there was Oswald’s salvation; Jim Gordon’s moral compass.

 

“Detective Gordon!” Oswald simpered, ducking his head. Which turned out not to be such a good idea when his vision swirled again and he found himself stumbling.

 

“Hey,” Jim said, reaching out to grab Oswald. He caught Oswald around the ribcage, unknowingly putting pressure on the exact spot Fish’s cronies had kicked. Oswald gasped and everything went white for a second.

  
Then Oswald threw up on Jim’s shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jim stared for a moment, trying to figure out how he got from coming home after a long day’s work and finding Cobblepot skulking outside his apartment to vomit on his shoes._

Jim stared for a moment, trying to figure out how he got from coming home after a long day’s work and finding Cobblepot skulking outside his apartment to vomit on his shoes. He still had his hands on Cobblepot’s sides and he could feel him start to shake.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Cobblepot said hurriedly, “I am so sorry James!”

 

Jim could hear genuine distress in Cobblepot’s voice, none of that fake grovelling everyone else seems to buy into.

 

“I’ll clean this up,” Cobblepot said, starting to bend over and reach for Jim’s shoes.

 

“Hey,” Jim said, gripping Cobblepot under the arms and forcing him to stand upright, “It’s fine.”

 

It was a half lie, Jim wasn’t happy that his shoes were ruined but he also wasn’t about to let Cobblepot grovel and wash his feet. The connotations of that were far too biblical for Jim’s taste.

 

“I will replace your shoes, of course,” Cobblepot assured him, still sounding nervous.

 

“Fine,” Jim responded. He wouldn’t normally agree to something like that be he figured Cobblepot owed him one. Cobblepot probably made enough money, judging by his clothes. Probably made money illegally. Jim shouldn’t have said anything. 

 

He looked Cobblepot over. The man was a mess. He’d clearly been severely beaten; his nose was bloodied, his cheek beginning to swell from what must have been one hell of a punch and there were cuts and scrapes all over his face. His normally immaculate suit was in tatters and that just reeked of intent. Someone had wanted to shame Cobblepot. The problem was, the suspect pool was overly large. Cobblepot had made a lot of enemies.

 

“Let me take you to the hospital,” Jim said. It was the least he could do with Cobblepot looking so downtrodden.

 

“N-no,” Cobblepot stammered, going pale. Well, paler.

 

“You have to get yourself checked out,” Jim pressed.

 

“A hospital will just make things worse,” Cobblepot shook his head, “No, I-I-I’ll just tend to myself.”

 

Jim had his mouth open to agree. Cobblepot wasn’t his problem. He was a grown man, a fucking mobster, he could take care of himself. Except he was still swaying on his feet with unfocused eyes. He looked lost and much to Jim’s dismay, innocent. Cobblepot was an accomplished actor, Jim knew that. He also knew that Cobblepot had probably committed enough crimes to send him to jail for life if there was any justice in this damn town. And yet, there was just something about him. Jim wanted to hit himself for what he was about to do.

 

“At least come up to the apartment and get cleaned up,” Jim said gruffly.

 

If Cobblepot argued with him then all bets were off. Jim would let him go on his merry way and he wouldn’t feel bad about it. Probably. Maybe. Oh who was he kidding.

 

“Thank you,” Cobblepot answered, looking genuinely relieved, “You are a kind man, James.”

 

“Yeah,” Jim said with a grimace. He didn’t think it was kindness so much as stupidity. Apparently when it came to Cobblepot, Jim was all about making bad choices. So much of his life had been fucked up since he let Cobblepot live. Except that he knew that the guilt of murdering someone would have eaten him alive by now. And it wasn’t Cobblepot’s fault. Not really.

 

Jim shook his feet one by one, trying to dislodge as much vomit as he could. To be fair, his shoes had probably seen worse.

 

“Again,” Cobblepot said, his hands raised in supplication, “I truly am sorry.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Jim grunted, “Seriously.”

 

Cobblepot gave him a wobbly smile. Jim cursed his own weakness.

 

“Come on,” Jim said, leading Cobblepot to the door of the building.

 

Jim watched as Cobblepot struggled to walk. Jim knew exactly what it felt like to come down from a beating like that. As soon as the adrenaline wore off all that pain would come crashing through. The part Jim hated the most was when his muscles would start to stiffen and every movement was a monumental task. It looked like Oswald was there already.

 

They got into the elevator and Jim hit the button for the top floor. He didn’t expect to find Barbara there. He hadn’t seen her in days. He couldn’t blame her, after everything that had happened with Falcone. During the war, Jim had seen many rookies get in over their head, hell, he’d been there himself once upon a time. Everyone coped with it differently, and Barbara wasn’t even trained for it. She’d just been pulled in by the whirlwind that had become Jim’s life. 

 

Cobblepot was being unusually quiet. Jim glanced at him. Cobblepot looked pretty terrible. He was leaning against the elevator wall with his eyes closed, his mouth set in a thin line. He was breathing shallowly and Jim hoped to God that it didn’t mean he had broken ribs. Bruises and scrapes he could deal with, broken bones were way beyond his area of expertise and Jim did not feel like fighting with Cobblepot about a time to the emergency room.

 

“Almost there,” Jim said, feeling the need to comfort him. Cobblepot merely nodded.

 

The elevator dinged and Jim went ahead to open the door to his apartment, Cobblepot lagging behind. Jim kicked off his shoes just inside the door. He’d deal with them later.

 

“On the couch,” Jim said, pointing in the right direction before he disappeared into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. 

 

Jim came back to find Cobblepot sprawled awkwardly on the couch, trying to accommodate his wounds, no doubt. Jim had never seen him look so disorderly, even when he was begging for his life. He wondered if anyone ever had. 

 

Jim set the kit down on the table and went to the kitchen to grab a cold pack for the swelling. He wrapped it in a towel and walked back to the couch. He handed it to Cobblepot, who struggled to sit up.

 

“Stay,” Jim ordered, waving Cobblepot back down. Cobblepot obeyed with a strange expression on his face, somewhere between suspicion and relief.

 

Jim pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and gauze from the kit. He put the gauze over the mouth of the antiseptic bottle and tipped it a few times to wet the gauze. Jim knelt in front of the couch and began cleaning Cobblepot’s face, starting with the blood beneath his nose. Cobblepot went still but he didn’t resist or complain. Jim pulled out another gauze pad and dabbed antiseptic on the scrapes in his cheeks. It didn’t occur to Jim until he was finished that Cobblepot could have done that himself.

 

Jim had seen Cobblepot beat up many times, but he had never looked so pitiful before. Cobblepot seemed the type to attract abuse and as bad as Cobblepot was, Jim didn’t think anyone deserved that. Truth be told he felt kind of sorry for the guy. Not that Jim doubted that Cobblepot didn’t somehow get his own back, Cobblepot just reeked of conniving and revenge plots.

 

“How’s the eye feeling?” Jim asked.

 

“Better, thank you,” Cobblepot rushed to say.

 

Jim motioned for Cobblepot to move the ice pack so he could see.

 

“Hmm,” Jim frowned, “You’re going to have one hell of a shiner.”

 

Cobblepot shrugged like it was nothing. 

 

“Well, I’m all cleaned up now,” Cobblepot said, sitting up, “I should go.”

  
“No,” Jim responded automatically. He couldn’t let Cobblepot go back to wandering the streets with a concussion. It was dangerous even for people like him. “Stay the night.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This was kindness and that was not something Oswald was used to from anyone. He’d never thought to anticipate this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry or the short chapter, the next one will be much longer I promise!   
> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and comments <3

Oswald blinked. It wasn’t often he was surprised by people. He could usually predict what most people would do. He’d counted on Jim’s moral compass before and it had saved his life, but this was something else. This was kindness and that was not something Oswald was used to from anyone. He’d never thought to anticipate this.

 

“If it's not too much trouble,” Oswald finally replied.

 

Jim grunted in reply and began cleaning up the medical supplies. Oswald watched from his perch on the couch, unsure what to do, whether he should help. This was new territory; uncharted waters. In the end Oswald's growing headache and stiff body made his choice for him and Oswald simply sat.

 

Jim left the room and came back with a small pile of folded clothes.

 

“Here,” Jim said, “These should fit.”

 

“Oh,” Oswald said, surprised yet again. He took the clothes from Jim. They were soft, clearly old and been through enough washes that they would have been worn by Jim many times. That knowledge warmed Oswald in an odd way.

 

“Bathrooms that way,” Jim said, pointing, before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

Oswald got up slowly and made his way to the bathroom. It was hard going, his body protesting the whole way. Oswald resisted the urge to snoop once there. It wouldn't do to repay Jim's kindness by breaking his trust. Oswald removed his clothes slowly, each movement a challenge. His ribs protested everytime he turned a little and his bad leg threatened to spasm so many times Oswald would swear it was making fun of him. His leg going into spasm was the last thing he needed now. He was vulnerable enough as it was, he didn’t need Jim to find him writhing around in pain in his bathroom. Once dressed Oswald used some of the mouthwash that had been left out on the counter, grateful to be rid of the reminder of his earlier embarrassment. Oswald still couldn’t believe he’d thrown up on Jim Gordon’s shoes.

 

Oswald folded up his ruined clothes and brought them out with him; he’d see what was saveable when he returned home. He felt strange and exposed wearing simply a t-shirt and sweatpants. There was a reason he dressed in suits, they built him up and gave him a sense of gravity, tricked people into thinking he was bigger than he was. Dressed so simply anyone could see how skinny and weak he looked. 

 

“I’ve ordered pizza,” Jim said when Oswald came back into the living room. Oswald watched as Jim’s eyes scanned him before he quickly looked away. Oswald wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

“You didn’t have to, I don’t want to be anymore trouble,” Oswald replied. 

 

“Well I’m hungry, so you can eat or not eat,” Jim huffed, “If you do eat though, I can give you painkillers.”

 

“Oh,” Oswald said, a small smile forming, “Thank you. Again. I really am grateful.”

 

Jim nodded his head in acknowledgement. Oswald sat back down on the couch for lack of anything better to do. He winced when his ribs protested. When he’d gotten dressed he’d noticed that his injuries were all still red and just starting to swell. He’d be black and blue by morning.

 

“Ribs?” Jim asked, having been watching him.

 

“Yes, Fish’s men had a fun time using me as a soccer ball,” Oswald replied with a self-deprecating smile.

 

“Fish ordered this?” Jim asked, his face going stormy.

 

“Technically Maroni and Falcone have a cease-fire agreement, but Fish has always done things her way,” Oswald said with a shrug, which he instantly regretted.

 

“I’ll get you some ice for your side,” Jim said, leaving the room quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jim was used to the casual cruelty of Gotham, as much as one could be._

Jim stomped into the kitchen and ripped open the freezer door. He was surprised by his own anger. Jim was used to the casual cruelty of Gotham, as much as one could be. The thing was, while Falcone and Maroni were terrible people, they did things with an air of detachment. It was all just business to them. Fish Mooney was cruel because she liked it, that was the difference. It made Jim’s skin crawl. Jim took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts.

 

Jim grabbed another ice pack and wrapped it before heading back out. Cobblepot was sitting on the couch where Jim had left him. He looked so small without his usual attire. Jim imagined he could see a glimpse of what he might have been like as a child. A tiny, awkward Oswald Cobblepot who was bullied for his strange manner. No one got as obsequious as Cobblepot feigned without practice. Jim would bet anything that Cobblepot had been an unnerving child. He wondered what payback Cobblepot’s bullies had endured. 

 

“Here,” Jim said, handing Cobblepot the new ice pack. 

 

Cobblepot took the pack with a nod of thanks and Jim watched as he tried to find a way to put it on his battered ribs. It clearly pained him to move and Jim could only take so many winces.

 

“Oh, just let me,” Jim said, grabbing the pack back. He knelt in front of the couch and held the pack to Cobblepot’s side. “Here?”

 

Cobblepot just stared at him a moment before visibly shaking himself.

 

“A-a-a little to the back,” Cobblepot stuttered. 

 

Jim knew he’d found the right spot when Cobblepot hissed. Jim pressed more gently; he didn’t want to hurt the guy any more than he already was. Jim watched as goosebumps formed on Cobblepots arms. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone with such pale skin before. Jim could feel Cobblepot’s gaze on him, intense as it was. Jim didn’t dare look up. He was already aware of how many boundaries he was crossing. His own boundaries; he had no idea about Cobblepot’s. If someone had told him this morning that this was how he’d be spending his evening Jim probably would have laughed them right out the room. But Jim could admit to himself that he’d always had a soft spot for wounded birds. As much as he tried to steal himself against it, he found it hard to resist helping someone in need. Even knowing that Cobblepot was a criminal didn’t negate it. 

 

Jim was saved from his own swirling thoughts by the door buzzer going.

 

“That’s the pizza,” Jim said unnecessarily. 

 

Jim put the ice pack down and went to the door to get the pizza. Jim muttered a thank you to the delivery guy and made sure to lock the door when he came back in. He fetched plates from the kitchen and sat down next to Cobblepot. The meal was silent. Jim wasn’t much for smalltalk as it was, but he definitely wasn’t going to make the effort in this situation. Things were weird enough. Talking sports or current events with Cobblepot was a kind of lunacy that Jim wasn’t going to commit to. He’d done enough crazy things today.

 

Jim cleared the plates and boxes when they were done and gave Cobblepot the painkillers he’d promised. Jim also handed Cobblepot a pillow and blanket before excusing himself and going to bed. Jim wasn’t sure he’d sleep, not with Cobblepot just in the other room, but he couldn’t spend any more time around him.

 

Jim dozed all night, always half aware of his surroundings. He jolted awake with every sound and got up a few times to check on Cobblepot, who for his part seemed to be sleeping very soundly. Jim almost envied him. Jim hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. In the early hours on the morning Jim surccumbed to exhaustion. He woke with a start a few hours later, surprised to find morning light filtering through the windows. He got up with a yawn, already dreading the work day ahead of him. He really needed some proper sleep. 

 

In the living room he found the blanket he’d given Cobblepot neatly folded and the pillow fluffed and placed on top of it. Cobblepot was nowhere to be found and Jim was grateful to not have to face an awkward encounter. The idea of offering Cobblepot breakfast and then seeing him out like it was some parody of a morning after made Jim uncomfortable. He wasn’t that guy.

 

+

 

Jim considered the incident with Cobblepot well and truly behind him until about a week later when a box appeared on his desk at work. He opened it with a suspicious frown and found brand new  expensive leather shoes. He had completely forgotten about Cobblepot’s promise to replace his shoes. 

 

“What ya got?” Harvey said, coming around to Jim’s desk. Jim tried to close the box but Harvey was too quick.

 

“Italian leather, nice,” Harvey said with an impressed nod. 

 

Jim looked at him incredulously.

 

“What? You think a guy like me can’t appreciate nice things?” Harvey said with a raised eyebrow. Harvey picked up a shoe and examined it.

 

“So, who’s got you on the take?” Harvey smirked, putting the shoe back in the box.

 

Jim just scowled, too thrown by Cobblepot’s gift to summon up a good response.

 

“Hey, calm down, I know you’re the untouchable golden boy,” Harvey said, holding his hands up in surrender, “But really, gift from Barbara?”

 

“Yeah,” Jim said, taking the out. He still hadn’t seen her. He had no clue where she wass or how she was doing besides a text she sent a few days ago saying she needed some time and was staying with a friend.

 

“You don’t look too happy, she cheat on you or something?” Harvey frowned.

 

“What?!” Jim said, Harvey’s words hitting him like a punch in the gut.

 

“Is this, you know, an apology?” Harvey said with a sympathetic look.

 

“No,” Jim said, though in truth he couldn’t be sure what Barbara was doing, “It’s a thank you.”

 

“Yeah?” Harvey perked up, “Must have been some thing you did for her. Romantic or sexual?”

 

“Uuuhh,” Jim floundered, completely lost on how to answer that question.

 

“Well, well, well, I wasn’t sure you had that kinda stuff in you” Harvey said with a leer, “You’re so tense all the time.”

 

Harvey clapped him on the back and returned to his desk. Harvey was never going to know that it was a thank you gift from Cobblepot, that Jim would make certain of.

 

+

 

Jim intended to return the shoes to Cobblepot and impress upon him the importance of leaving Jim the hell alone, except Jim didn’t actually have any way of contacting Cobblepot, he normally contacted Jim. The shoe box sat on a table in Jim’s apartment and Jim’s eyes kept straying to it. It made Jim nervous, this tangible evidence of his moment of insanity. Jim feared that Harvey’s question wasn’t too far off and that Cobblepot thought he had an inside man now. Worse still, Jim didn’t want anyone knowing that he’d helped Cobblepot. He’d fought hard to stay as clean as possible and the other detectives hated him for it. He wasn’t about to let them think he was a liar too. They’d be relentless if they thought he was dirty.

 

So the box sat there and Jim looked at it every night and stewed. He couldn’t go to Maroni’s. He couldn’t be seen going there and Maroni couldn’t know what had happened. Jim looked up Cobblepot at work, trying to find an address or phone number, but all he could find were the contact details for his mother and Jim was absolutely not going down that road.

 

Jim’s problem was solved a few days later when he found Cobblepot waiting in the hall outside his apartment. Jim could see the fading evidence of a black eye but otherwise Cobblepot looked good as new. He was back in one of his immaculate suits, looking self assured and a little smug.

 

“You,” Jim said, pointing his finger at Cobblepot like he  wouldn’t know who Jim was talking to.

 

“James,” Cobblepot said jovially, his face plastered with a fake grin.

 

“Get inside,” Jim grunted, quickly unlocking his door and herding Cobblepot in. He glanced back to make sure no one had seen them. With the door closed Jim marched over to the box that had been plaguing him and picked it up.

 

“Take these back,” Jim growled, thrusting the box at Cobblepot, “I don’t want them.” 

 

Cobblepot had the gall to look offended.

 

“Didn’t you like them?” Cobblepot asked and Jim was sure he heard a hint of hurt in Cobblepot’s voice. He felt like he was going mad.

 

“I won’t be your inside man, I’m not crooked and I never will be,” Jim said, shaking the box that Cobblepot still hadn’t taken for emphasis.

 

“I don’t expect you to be. You’re a good man, Jim, honest. I like that,” Oswald said with a small genuine smile.

 

“Why?” Jim demanded, “Why would someone like you value an honest cop?”

 

Cobblepot shrugged, “Maybe I want to be  your  inside man.”

 

“I’m not working with you,” Jim said automatically. He couldn’t trust that Cobblepot wouldn’t call in a favour, couldn’t trust that his information would be real and not just some way to eliminate his competition.

 

“Suit yourself,” Cobblepot said, unperturbed, “But it’s an open offer.”

 

With that Cobblepot made his way to the front door.

 

“Goodbye James,” Cobblepot threw over his shoulder, “See you soon.”

 

Jim was left staring at the door. He was still holding the shoe box.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oswald smiled to himself as he left Jim’s apartment. Jim had kept the shoes._

Oswald smiled to himself as he left Jim’s apartment. He knew that Jim would come around eventually, once he could get past his natural and, Oswald was honest enough to admit, well founded suspicion and see that Oswald’s intentions were not as nefarious as Jim thought they were. Oswald had no wish to see Jim dirtied. In fact, Oswald wanted Jim to very much succeed in his quest to make Gotham a better place. Gotham was getting out of hand and the inevitable war was not something Oswald wanted any part of. Oswald was interested in furthering his career, not destroying the city. Falcone, Maroni and Fish were too blind to see it. Ego, greed and a thirst for revenge had them thinking that their current paths wouldn’t end in mutual destruction. Oswald would need Jim in the near future, and Jim would need Oswald if either of them were to survive the fallout.

 

Oswald walked with a metaphorical spring in his step and the fact that his leg prevented him from turning the metaphor into reality could not dampen his spirits. Jim had kept the shoes. Oswald wouldn’t fool himself into thinking Jim would come around to his way of thinking anytime soon, but that was a step in the right direction. Oswald felt a secret thrill at the idea that Jim might wear something Oswald had given him. There was something about Jim that was hugely alluring. Oswald wanted a stake in that and he knew it would take time and patience. He’d worm his way into Jim’s life little by little, not to ruin, like Jim suspected, but to improve, to bolster. Jim was going to need someone in the criminal world that he could trust, he’d see that eventually, and Oswald was going to make sure it was him. Jim had been kinder to him than anyone had ever been in Oswald’s life and Oswald was going to repay that kindness.

 

+

 

Oswald had his own source in the police department, unbeknownst to Falcone. It helped to know what Falcone knew before Falcone could reveal it. That way Oswald could have a number of plans set in place. Information was often far more valuable than money. Luckily Jim was always making waves so it never seemed indiscrete for Oswald to ask about him. It was good to know that Jim was still forging ahead, refusing to bow to the pressure from the rest of the department. Jim’s resolve was one of the things Oswald admired about him. 

 

Oswald wasn’t expecting a call from his source so soon and he listened to the voicemail he’d left with growing anger. Jim had been demoted, not just demoted, but disgraced, sent to Arkham Asylum as a security guard. It was a slap in the face. Oswald could barely contain his anger, clutching at his phone and breathing heavily. Someone would pay for this and they would pay dearly. 

 

Oswald needed Jim back on the force, hell, Gotham needed Jim there too. The trouble was, Oswald couldn’t go about that directly. On another day he might be able to ask Falcone, convince him that Jim could be an asset and that he needed to put pressure on the mayor. But with Falcone’s little chat with him earlier that day Oswald wasn’t in a position to be asking any favours. Oswald couldn’t go back to Falcone until he’d “found” the mole.

 

Oswald watched the press conference later, heard Mayor James spout nonsense about an overzealous cop. Oswald would happily plan Mayor James’ murder. Oswald wondered if Falcone authorized that or if the mayor demoted Jim of his own volition.

 

“Oswald,” his mother said, “If the news upsets you so much then you should not watch it.”

 

“I’m fine, mother,” Oswald replied sharply. 

 

“Such a sensitive boy,” his mother muttered.

 

Oswald would make sure Jim became a detective again and he’d make sure the appropriate people paid. It would take subtlety, though. Oswald would have to think on it. A visit to Jim was in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to become canon divergent after ep 10. Or at least I assume that what I have planned isn't going to happen in the show, hah!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jim had always been the kind of guy that if you pushed him, he just pushed you back harder._

Jim straightened his tie and looked at himself in the mirror. He tried not to grimace. This was his choice. It had been a choice between two crap options, quitting like they wanted him to or taking a post meant to demean him, but it was still his. He wasn’t going to let them take a single thing from him, from who he was. He wasn’t going to bow to them. Jim was going to wear this uniform and he was going to do his best at Arkham. They expected Jim to be too prideful to carry on, that the shame of being demoted would make him run with his tail between his legs. They had seriously misjudged Jim’s sense of pride. Jim had always been the kind of guy that if you pushed him, he just pushed you back harder. It was time for the powers that be to see that. Jim wasn’t giving up, not by a long shot.

 

Jim left the apartment with a renewed sense of purpose. He didn’t care how long it took, he’d claw his way back and he’d take down every last corrupt official or he’d die trying. He wouldn’t skimp on his job at Arkham either, wouldn’t give them a reason to fire him. And every spare minute he got, he’d dedicate himself to finding out who was at the top, who Lovecraft was so scared of, and he’d find a way of taking them down.

 

Jim was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice Cobblepot limping up to him. Jim really didn’t need this right now.

 

“What do you want?” Jim snapped, barely glancing at Cobblepot as he strode on. Cobblepot had to rush to keep up. People on the sidewalk parted easily as if sensing Jim’s dogged determination and not wanting to get caught in the firing line.

 

“James,” Cobblepot said, a little breathless from following Jim at such a fast pace, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

 

“What?” Jim said, his steps faltering a little.

 

“Your demotion,” Cobblepot continued, “It is truly a travesty.”

 

Jim stopped short. He saw the relief on Cobblepot’s face that he didn’t have to continue walking and Jim tried not to feel bad.

 

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re here to gloat,” Jim said, not wanting to play games.

 

“No, I assure you, I am very upset. I’d pay a visit to the mayor but...” Cobblepot shrugs, “Falcone.”

 

There was something dark in Cobblepot’s eyes, and it reminded Jim of the looks he’d seen many times in the war; Death, violence. Cobblepot really would kill the mayor on Jim’s behalf, Jim was sure of it.

 

“I really don’t understand you,” Jim said.

 

Cobblepot smiled at that and the look in his eyes faded away quickly.

 

“That’s ok,” Cobblepot said, hint of amusement in his voice, “Most people don’t.”

 

Jim just nodded, not sure how to respond to that. Cobblepot’s spiel about helping each other just didn’t make sense to Jim, even though he knew Cobblepot meant it. Jim just couldn’t figure out why Cobblepot would want to work with an honest cop like him, and why he claimed he didn’t want Jim to change.

 

“I’ll leave you to get to work,” Cobblepot said, “But Jim…?”

 

Cobblepot places his hand on Jim’s arm, and much to his surprise, Jim didn’t feel the need  to shake him off.

 

“I will find a way to fix this,” Cobblepot promised.

 

Cobblepot walked away before Jim could say anything. Jim just hoped that Cobblepot wasn’t planning any murders.

 

+

 

Jim didn’t take long to get his bearings in Arkham. The job was simple enough, make sure the cells were locked, break up any fights that happened and patrol the seemingly endless corridors. It took a while to get used to the screaming and babbling though. Jim found that all unnerving but he wasn’t sure whether it was worse when the inmates were acting out their delusions or when they were drugged into a stupor, staring into space and drooling. Jim had to remind himself more than once that these people weren’t just mentally ill, but violent criminals too.

 

Jim wasn’t sleeping well. He wished he could go home and have someone to talk to, but he still hadn’t heard from Barbara. He was being honest with himself, it was less and less Barbara he missed and more the companionship and partnership than anything else. Either way, he spent more time at work than was necessary and if he sometimes slept in the guard’s breakroom instead of going home, well, no one was there to comment.

  
Jim hadn’t got any closer to finding out who was really controlling Gotham. He wasn’t even sure where to start.


End file.
